Angel explore his super strength limits
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 11
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Angel prowled the junkyard like a predator in a playground made of scrap. Floodlights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across rusted hulks and twisted metal. Cherri trailed behind, barefoot on gravel, breath shallow, eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear. Every time he flexed or lifted, she felt a fresh pulse of heat between her thighs—her body betraying her even as her mind screamed danger.
Angel stopped at a half-buried semi-truck cab—old, rusted, probably twenty tons with the trailer long gone. He planted his feet wide, long white hair swaying in the night breeze, nipples still peaked from the cool air. He gripped the front bumper with both hands, manicured claws digging into steel like it was clay.
“Watch this, Sugar Tits,” he called over his shoulder, voice thick with smug delight.
He pulled.
Metal groaned, then shrieked as the cab lifted—first an inch, then a foot, then fully off the ground. Tires dangled uselessly. Angel straightened to his full seven feet, hoisting the massive vehicle overhead like a barbell. Veins bulged across his biceps and forearms—thick ropes of blue lightning under porcelain skin. His pecs swelled further with the effort, striations deepening, nipples hardening to sharp points. He laughed—bright, manic—and pressed the cab upward in a slow, controlled shoulder press.
“One… two… three…” he counted mockingly, then slammed it down. The cab crumpled on impact, frame buckling, windshield exploding in a shower of glass. The ground shook; dust billowed.
Angel flexed both arms overhead—biceps peaking into mountains, triceps horseshoeing, deltoids rounding into caps. “Pathetic. That thing weighs more than your entire bloodline and it still feels like a toy.”
Cherri’s knees wobbled. “Angel… that was a semi-truck…”
“Was,” he corrected, sauntering to a stack of three crushed cars welded together into a single block—easily thirty tons of compacted steel. He squatted, wrapped long arms around the base, and deadlifted. Muscles exploded into definition: quads splitting into teardrop shapes, glutes clenching like carved marble, back flaring into a cobra hood of lats and traps. Veins throbbed visibly across every surface. The stack rose smoothly—first waist-high, then chest-high, then overhead.
He held it there, one-handed, while the other hand lazily stroked down his abs, tracing the eight-pack ridges. “See? No strain. No burn. No limit.” He tossed the block sideways; it crashed through a row of old refrigerators like a meteor, flattening them into pancakes.
Cherri whispered, “You could… you could lift a building.”
Angel spun toward her, white hair whipping. “A building? Baby, I could lift a city block and use it as a dildo.” His cock twitched at the thought—monstrous length hardening again, custard-like precum drooling from the slit. He laughed wickedly. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Mysterious Giant Fucks Chicago Skyline Into Submission.’”
He moved to a massive industrial crane arm—fifty feet long, solid steel beam, probably fifty tons. He wrapped one arm around it, fingers sinking into metal like dough. With a casual flex the beam bent—first a gentle curve, then a sharp V. He straightened it again, giggling. “Bendy straws are so last season.”
Next he punched a thick concrete wall—old warehouse remnant. His fist sank through like butter, rebar snapping like twigs. He pulled his arm out, flexing to show no scratch, no bruise. “Bulletproof? Try building-proof.”
Cherri stepped closer, voice trembling. “Is there… anything you can’t do?”
Angel turned slowly, towering over her. He reached down, cupped her chin with one delicate, clawed hand—gentle but unyielding. “Right now? Nothing. I could crush mountains, fuck oceans dry, rewrite gravity if I got bored.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “And you made me this way. My perfect little scientist. My toy. My creator.”
He released her and strode to a derelict excavator—seventy tons of tracked machinery. He gripped the bucket arm, ripped it free with a screech of tortured metal, then swung it like a baseball bat. The excavator toppled sideways, crushing two sedans beneath it.
Angel dropped the arm, flexed his entire body—every muscle popping into hyper-definition—and laughed again. “No limits. No ceilings. Just me.”
Cherri sank to her knees in the dirt, staring up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. “What now?”
Angel crouched—still towering over her even on one knee—and tilted her chin up. “Now, Sugar Tits… we go bigger. I want to see how much of this world I can break before it begs for mercy.”
He stood, stretched once more—pecs thrusting forward, cock swaying heavy between his thighs—and started walking deeper into the junkyard, hips rolling with predatory grace.
The night was his.
And it was only beginning.
Angel stopped at a half-buried semi-truck cab—old, rusted, probably twenty tons with the trailer long gone. He planted his feet wide, long white hair swaying in the night breeze, nipples still peaked from the cool air. He gripped the front bumper with both hands, manicured claws digging into steel like it was clay.
“Watch this, Sugar Tits,” he called over his shoulder, voice thick with smug delight.
He pulled.
Metal groaned, then shrieked as the cab lifted—first an inch, then a foot, then fully off the ground. Tires dangled uselessly. Angel straightened to his full seven feet, hoisting the massive vehicle overhead like a barbell. Veins bulged across his biceps and forearms—thick ropes of blue lightning under porcelain skin. His pecs swelled further with the effort, striations deepening, nipples hardening to sharp points. He laughed—bright, manic—and pressed the cab upward in a slow, controlled shoulder press.
“One… two… three…” he counted mockingly, then slammed it down. The cab crumpled on impact, frame buckling, windshield exploding in a shower of glass. The ground shook; dust billowed.
Angel flexed both arms overhead—biceps peaking into mountains, triceps horseshoeing, deltoids rounding into caps. “Pathetic. That thing weighs more than your entire bloodline and it still feels like a toy.”
Cherri’s knees wobbled. “Angel… that was a semi-truck…”
“Was,” he corrected, sauntering to a stack of three crushed cars welded together into a single block—easily thirty tons of compacted steel. He squatted, wrapped long arms around the base, and deadlifted. Muscles exploded into definition: quads splitting into teardrop shapes, glutes clenching like carved marble, back flaring into a cobra hood of lats and traps. Veins throbbed visibly across every surface. The stack rose smoothly—first waist-high, then chest-high, then overhead.
He held it there, one-handed, while the other hand lazily stroked down his abs, tracing the eight-pack ridges. “See? No strain. No burn. No limit.” He tossed the block sideways; it crashed through a row of old refrigerators like a meteor, flattening them into pancakes.
Cherri whispered, “You could… you could lift a building.”
Angel spun toward her, white hair whipping. “A building? Baby, I could lift a city block and use it as a dildo.” His cock twitched at the thought—monstrous length hardening again, custard-like precum drooling from the slit. He laughed wickedly. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Mysterious Giant Fucks Chicago Skyline Into Submission.’”
He moved to a massive industrial crane arm—fifty feet long, solid steel beam, probably fifty tons. He wrapped one arm around it, fingers sinking into metal like dough. With a casual flex the beam bent—first a gentle curve, then a sharp V. He straightened it again, giggling. “Bendy straws are so last season.”
Next he punched a thick concrete wall—old warehouse remnant. His fist sank through like butter, rebar snapping like twigs. He pulled his arm out, flexing to show no scratch, no bruise. “Bulletproof? Try building-proof.”
Cherri stepped closer, voice trembling. “Is there… anything you can’t do?”
Angel turned slowly, towering over her. He reached down, cupped her chin with one delicate, clawed hand—gentle but unyielding. “Right now? Nothing. I could crush mountains, fuck oceans dry, rewrite gravity if I got bored.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “And you made me this way. My perfect little scientist. My toy. My creator.”
He released her and strode to a derelict excavator—seventy tons of tracked machinery. He gripped the bucket arm, ripped it free with a screech of tortured metal, then swung it like a baseball bat. The excavator toppled sideways, crushing two sedans beneath it.
Angel dropped the arm, flexed his entire body—every muscle popping into hyper-definition—and laughed again. “No limits. No ceilings. Just me.”
Cherri sank to her knees in the dirt, staring up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. “What now?”
Angel crouched—still towering over her even on one knee—and tilted her chin up. “Now, Sugar Tits… we go bigger. I want to see how much of this world I can break before it begs for mercy.”
He stood, stretched once more—pecs thrusting forward, cock swaying heavy between his thighs—and started walking deeper into the junkyard, hips rolling with predatory grace.
The night was his.
And it was only beginning.
26 views
·
June 13
Log in to comment